


Mirror, mirror on the wall

by catwalksalone



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Mirrors, Mutual Masturbation, Narcissism, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-21
Updated: 2006-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwalksalone/pseuds/catwalksalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two men. A hotel room. A mirror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror, mirror on the wall

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Hot, Hard and Up Against The Wall!](http://wallsmut.livejournal.com/) challenge.

It’s another anonymous hotel room. Dan’s room. You’ve finished changing and knock on Dan’s door to find him in sweats and a T. Comfortable, yes, but not acceptable for the interview. You raise your eyebrows and push past him, settling on his bed, propping yourself up on the headboard, hands behind your head. His TV is on, surprisingly not on CSC or ESPN but on Cartoon Network, where extremely violently coloured alien-like beings are doing damage to each other very loudly. You tell him the cars will be here in half an hour. He is leaning against the wall like he doesn’t care, one eye on the TV, one eye on you, goading. You raise your eyebrows and say his name in that I-don’t-have-time-for-your-shit tone and he pushes himself upright and disappears round the corner.

It’s a typical hotel room, closet space in the tiny corridor between door and bedroom. You can hear the closet door slide open but Dan is out of sight. Then you see the mirror. Full length, next to the desk cluttered with Danny crap (how does he do that? you wonder, recalling the clean surfaces in your room. There hasn’t been _time._ ). The mirror affords you a perfect view of Danny’s profile as he shucks off his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor. The cackles of an evil mastermind on the TV hides your gasp at the sight of his long, lean, almost naked body. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this before. You would remember, surely? He leans forward and braces himself against the doorframe, squinting into the dark closet. What could possibly be in there? He brought a suit-bag and a carry-on, it’s not like he has choice. Then you don’t care because you see the way each muscle in his arm subtly arcs into the next, the smooth sweep of skin over the shoulder-blades that rise in a blunted peak, the curve from his ribcage into his belly, shadows playing over his body giving the impression of a pathway heading inexorably downwards. You catch your breath again and squirm a little on the bed as you feel the buzzing begin in your groin, feel the blood begin to pound. You close your eyes, squeezing them until the patterns bleed into blackness. Not now, you tell yourself. Not now.

Despite the clamour of the TV your ears are tuned into softer noises, the clank of clothes being tugged brusquely from hangers, the rustle of cotton, the rough buzz of a zipper, the clink of a buckle and slap of leather as Dan’s belt is fastened. Safe, you think and open your eyes. He is standing in front of the mirror, tie in hand, top button unfastened so you can see the dip below his Adam’s apple. You wonder if it’s unprofessional to want to put your tongue there, against the warm, raspy skin. Your eyes sweep over him, taking in his broad back, and the way his ass is so beautifully framed by those suit pants. You have enough smarts to remember that he can see you in the reflection but it’s only that that’s stopping your jaw hitting your chest. You can’t remember the last time you wanted anybody so much. Get a grip, you tell your libido. You realise he is speaking to you, asking about his tie. Straight? No it’s not straight. God, Danny, can’t you dress yourself? With a roll of your eyes you get off the bed and go over to him, still fidgeting with his tie, looking at his own reflection with a perplexed frown.

You spin him around and take his hands away, denying the sharp crackle of electricity that passes between you when his skin touches yours. You loosen the tie, sighing, burbling some shit about how you learnt to do this when you were a kid but you don’t pay any attention to what you are saying because he’s so close you can feel the heat radiating off him like he’s a furnace and his breath is tickling your face and it’s a sheer act of will not to just take that last little step and steal it. And then you pull the tie tight, giving it a little tug to get it perfect and you raise your eyes to Danny’s and they are wide - black circles obliterating any trace of brown and you realise he is flushed and his breath is coming in little pants and that’s all you need and your mouth is on his, fierce and impatient, the force of your body crashing him into the mirror. It holds. No bad luck for you.

And then his tongue is in your mouth and his hand is in your hair and your bodies are grinding together frantically as if by some magic the friction and pressure will transform the two of you into one and then, only then will you be close enough. You slide one hand round to cup his ass, the cool of the mirror glass contrasting with the heat burning from your palm. You push even closer, the press of his erection against you is almost overwhelming. You tear your mouth from his, he follows it blindly, moaning at its loss but you need a moment so you nudge his head out of the way and rest your chin on his shoulder, your forehead touching the mirror, eyes closed, breathing hard, your hand coming up to Dan’s face. You rest your thumb on his hungry lips and he opens at once, tongue tip curling around you before sucking you in, licking the delicate pad of flesh. A shiver shoots the length of your body, your eyes fly open and that’s when you see him. The Man in the Mirror. His pose is an exact reflection of your own. And in his glistening eyes you can see all the desire and need that must be in your own. This man wants Danny too. And you don’t blame him, you celebrate his presence because Danny needs to be worshipped thoroughly and you only have two hands and one mouth to press into service.

Dan grasps your wrist and slowly, agonizingly draws out your thumb. For a split second you grieve, then are battered with sensation as he licks up your palm to the tip of your index finger, taking it deep inside his hot, hot mouth. The fingers of your other hand clutch at him, curling into the round flesh. You fasten your teeth on his neck and bite down, your lips a tight seal around the scene of the crime. You feel his gasp on your finger, on your chest, in your hair, on your hips. You lick it better and see the Mirror Man doing the same thing. Dan is done with your fingers now and he’s pulling your head back round, dragging you into a deep blood-red kiss and you can feel the blood pounding round your body, calling for reinforcements. You yank roughly at the tie you had knotted so carefully just minutes ago. Too much clothing. Too much. Dan picks up on the urgency and returns the favour and in seconds two crumpled ties are tossed to the floor, three if you count the Man in the Mirror. You can’t see him so well now, but you know he’s still there. Breaking the kiss you work intently at Dan’s shirt buttons, grateful that they slide easily out of their fabric prison. You stare at his chest, hairless, pale pink nipples set in even paler skin. It looks so smooth, like stone. You touch it. Stroke it. It’s hot. Not like stone. You feel his rib cage shake from the fierce pounding of his heart. Not like stone at all.

Dan is transfixed, his palms flat against the mirror. Behind him you know that the Mirror Man is touching Dan’s back the way you are touching his chest. You wonder what he wants to do next and then you know. You lean forward to kiss Dan again, his mouth accepts you hungrily and when he grabs your hips to pull you in you rake your nails down his torso hard. Dan slams backwards into the mirror, into the Mirror Man who has marked his back. You hold him there, hands on his shoulders as you kiss and lick your way down the red welts that have sprung up like bars, soothing them with your lips and fingers. As you bend, your hands slip down Dan’s arms until they are encircling his wrists. The Mirror Man copies, always in synch, and the two of you hold him between you, imprisoned. Your face is level with his crotch now and you resist the urge to bury yourself in the soft folds of his pants, seeking knowledge of the hardness within. Instead you and the Mirror Man make your way back up Dan’s body, your chest and abdomen deliberately pressing into him as you pass, pulling deep groans from him. You reach the dip in his throat and lay your tongue there, flat, tasting salt, feeling his pulse pound underneath you. It occurs to you that with one brutal bite you could rip his throat out. That all this, ultimately, is about trust.

And the Mirror Man is whispering in your ear and grazes Dan’s ass with his hand as you graze his cock. You look at Danny and he is inviting, not frightened so you stare hard at the Mirror Man as you both lick your palms and as your hand slides down around Dan’s cock you know where his is going. And the thought of long, slender fingers pushing into Dan’s tight ass gets you so hot you almost forget what you are doing, but Dan mutters your name and it calls you home. Your hand wraps around Dan’s cock like it has always belonged there and you start to stroke. Your brain is screaming at you hard, hard, do it harder but you don’t want to rush this. Dan takes his hands from you to unfasten his belt, undo the button, give you easier access. You are grateful. But he doesn’t stop there. He does the same to you and then his hand is on you and oh, god it feels like you’re flying. You move together, it seems you work as well in this as you do on screen. Dan’s cock is so hard you can feel it weeping with desperation. You rub the fingers of your other hand over the head of Dan’s penis and shove them in his open mouth, making him taste himself. He licks at them hungrily and you can feel your own cock crying in response.

And now it's hot rhythmic thrusts that feel so fucking good but you are jealous that Dan knows how he tastes and you do not. So you fall to your knees, pulling at the fabric, exposing Dan’s raw, angry cock and you lick your lips, opening them wide to take him in. And you are fucking Dan’s cock with your mouth as the Mirror Man fucks his ass with his tongue. And it’s too much. You steady yourself with one hand on Dan’s hip, pushing him back, holding him still and you wrap the other hand around your own shameless penis, pulling at it mindlessly as you lick and suck and forget how to breathe. You look up at Dan’s face, wild, abandoned and you know he can feel the Mirror Man too, hot wet tongue invading, retreating, invading. His hand clenches on your shoulder and you keep pumping because you know he’s gonna. And you’re gonna. And his voice is a warning, a siren, but you don’t listen because you want it, you want it and then he’s coming and it’s hot and salty and thick and you can’t get enough and he slams back against the mirror for the third time and this time it shatters. And as the shards of glass crash to the floor, in a glory of Technicolor light, you come harder than you’ve ever known, eyes locked on Danny, the arcing spurts ruining your interview shirt. The Mirror Man is gone.


End file.
